Thick smoke and the stench of blood rose high from the burning valley floor.
Most of the five hundred Orcs lay slain by the rain of Elmir’s arrows and the unyielding wall of Arandhir’s steel shields.
Yet, just as victory seemed absolute, the earth beneath the cliffs trembled violently.
*THUD!
THUD!
THUD!*
Footsteps weighing tons slammed against the ground.
From behind the thick black smoke in the darkest corner of the valley, three giant shadows emerged with a roar that shattered the night.
They were *three Cave-Trolls*, each standing fifteen feet tall.
Their hides were as thick as solid rock, and they swung massive iron-studded wooden clubs.
“Trolls!” Arandhir shouted in warning, tightening his shield line.
“Hold the line!”
*GRAAAARRRRGH!*
The first Troll swung its club with brutal force, smashing the earth near the narrow pass.
The impact sent a shockwave that threw several warriors to the ground.
Arrows loosed from Elmir’s archers high above struck the beast’s shoulders and neck, but its thick hide was too tough—ordinary arrows only stoked its fury.
Seeing the critical moment that could shatter his ranks, Arthur stepped to the edge of the cliff.
“Arandhir, fall back with the men!
Elmir, hold your fire!” Arthur commanded, his voice ringing with absolute authority.
Leaping from the thirty-foot cliff, Arthur landed gracefully on the burning valley floor, standing firmly between Arandhir’s soldiers and the three monstrosities.
In his hand, Arthur gripped the hilt of his legendary blade—*Ester, the Ice Sword*.
*SCHWING!*
As Arthur drew the blade from its sheath, a wave of freezing air spread across the valley.
The flames surrounding his feet instantly died, turning into fine frost crystals.
The blade of Ester gleamed with an elegant, deadly silver-blue light, breathing cold air that froze the ground beneath his every step.
Seeing a small man standing in its path, the first Troll roared in rage and brought its massive club crashing down toward Arthur’s head.
Arthur did not panic.
With calm precision, he stepped an inch aside as the club slammed into the earth, then swung Ester in a swift, horizontal arc.
*SPLAT—FROZE!*
The frost blade sliced through the Troll’s ankle.
The black blood spurting from the wound froze instantly, crystallizing the giant’s leg up to its hip.
Before the monster could comprehend what had happened, Arthur leaped into the air, spun his body, and drove his sword straight into the Troll’s chest.
Lethal ice magic surged from the hilt, freezing the Troll’s heart and internal organs in a matter of seconds.
The giant’s body hardened into solid ice before shattering into countless pieces upon hitting the ground.
Witnessing their comrade crumble into frozen dust, the remaining two Trolls roared in combined fury and terror.
They charged Arthur simultaneously from both flanks, raising their heavy clubs.
“Perish, monsters,” Arthur murmured coldly.
He drove Ester deep into the frozen earth beneath his feet.
**”Frost Domain!”**
*FWOOOOOOSH!*
A circle of ice magic erupted from the tip of his blade, unleashing a freezing shockwave that reached fifty yards out.
The arctic wind struck both Trolls instantly.
Their raised clubs froze mid-air, coated in thick ice, as their bodies slowed into static statues.
Arthur had no cause to fear for his men; on Arandhir’s orders, the soldiers had pulled far back from the fray.
Nor did he worry about the sword’s strain, for he now fully understood the limits of Ester’s power.
Taking advantage of their paralysis, Arthur drew his blade and surged forward like a blue shadow.
He sprinted up the semi-frozen arm of the second Troll and severed its neck with one fluid, circular sweep.
The creature’s head flew into the air, shattering into ice before touching the ground.
Without breaking momentum, Arthur leaped toward the final Troll.
With a full thrust of his physical strength, he buried Ester straight between its eyes.
*THWACK!*
In an instant, the third Troll froze entirely within a shell of sparkling blue ice.
Arthur casually drew his blade, took two steps back, and sheathed Ester.
*CLICK.*
As the scabbard locked into place, the icy statue of the final Troll collapsed into fine frost dust that drifted away in the night air.
A sudden silence fell over the valley.
The smoke and fires had been extinguished by the cold air brought forth by Arthur’s sword.
Five hundred Orcs were slain, and three Cave-Trolls had vanished into dust.
Arandhir, Elmir, and the entire company stood spellbound by this demonstration of power.
Then, as one, they knelt before Arthur, bowing their heads in profound respect and awe.
Arthur stood tall amidst the frozen ruins of the valley, looking over his men with glowing eyes.
The first battle was won; the threat in Trollshaw was no more.
The chaotic floor of the valley settled into a majestic quiet.
The chill from the residual *Frost Domain* slowly evaporated, leaving behind glowing ice crystals that caught the midnight moonlight of Trollshaw.
Arandhir raised his head and stood, followed by his hundred and fifty warriors and Elmir’s archers descending from the cliffs above.
There were no wild cheers—only deep reverence for the leadership and absolute strength their sovereign had displayed.
“Gather what supplies can be salvaged,” Arthur ordered calmly, scanning the valley.
“Arandhir, have your men search the enemy wagons.
Orcs often hoard plunder from nearby settlements—there may be food or materials useful for our construction.
And do not forget to free any captives held here.”
“At once, my Lord!” Arandhir replied.
“I am pleased to report that our two catapults are entirely undamaged.
The men will transport them back to the summit of Amon Sûl tonight.”
Receiving their orders, Arandhir dispatched search teams to secure the area.
Elmir approached Arthur, sheathing his bow with fluid grace.
“My Lord, not a single Orc escaped this valley.
With five hundred Orcs and three Trolls destroyed, the nearby villages will finally know peace.”
“That is good news, Elmir,” Arthur replied, patting his archer captain on the shoulder.
“Now our workers can focus entirely on the construction of the *White Castle of Radiance*.”
Arandhir looked over his soldiers.
“My Lord, thanks to your tactical command and the power of your Ice Sword, we suffered zero casualties.
Only a few men sustained minor bruises while holding the shield wall against the first wave.”
“Take the injured to Aeryn immediately,” Arthur instructed firmly.
“Every drop of our soldiers’ blood is precious.”
Dawn broke in the east, casting a golden light that warmed the peak of Amon Sûl.
Arthur’s forces returned up the hill victorious.
News of a total victory without a single casualty spread quickly among the thousand workers and citizens, inspiring overwhelming optimism and trust in their leader.
Elaroin Starweaver lost no time.
With the surrounding lands secured, he led the workers to lay the foundation stone of the *White Castle of Radiance*.
The clinking of chisels against white limestone and the rhythmic ring of Thargrim’s forge echoed in harmony—a symphony marking the rise of a new civilization.
Arthur stood upon the highest crest of Weathertop, gazing out across the vast green expanses of Eriador.
The System had granted him the initial spark, but it was the hard work, strategy, and loyalty of these people that would carve their names into the history of Middle-earth.
“This is only the beginning,” Arthur murmured softly, watching the sunrise with a steady smile.